


(I Ne'er Saw True Beauty Till) This Night

by azulaahai



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Love at First Sight, More tags to be added, Romeo and Juliet AU, eventual angst (obviously haha), shakespeare au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-02-23 00:29:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13178496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azulaahai/pseuds/azulaahai
Summary: Did my heart love till now? Foreswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.A not-so-serious Jonsa Romeo & Juliet AU. Admidst the century-long feud between their two houses, Sansa Stark and Jon Targaryen meet at a ball that his siblings forced him to sneak into. Turns out, they don't hate each other as much as they should.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Idk what I am doing, I love Shakespeare and am unable to resist my strange shipper urges, so here, have a Jonsa Romeo and Juliet AU - mainly family feuds/love at first sight/me having way too much fun/taking liberties with the AU.  All of the titles are - duh - Shakespeare quotes. Turned out kind of cheesy lmao, beware.

_Did my heart love till now? Foreswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night._

I: TWO HOUSEHOLDS BOTH ALIKE IN DIGNITY

It's obvious when Jon meets him in the doorway - his brother has been in another brawl.  
Aegon's lip is split and his shirt stained with what Jon hopes is someone else's blood. His blade, thankfully, seems to have remained sheathed, but Jon gives him a sharp look nonetheless.

"Stark men?" Jon asks, already knowing the answer.  
"Always Stark men."  
"Who started it?"  
"They were provoking me."  
"But you hit first?"

Fool, Jon wants to scream. He has no love for the Starks - why would he - but his brother has a talent for attracting trouble. Brawling in the streets a time or two is neither uncommon nor against the law, but for Aegon to allow himself to be so easily provoked ... Foolish indeed.  
"Easy, brother. A fight, is all. All three of them looks worse than I do, I'll wager." Aegon has the audacity to grin. Jon curses.  
" _Three?_ You took on three Stark men by yourself?"  
"I was not alone."  
"Who ..." Jon cuts himself of and curses under his breath when their sister enters the room, hair loose and eyes sparkling. Well, one eye sparkling - the other is so swollen you can't quite tell.  
"You worry too much, brother", Rhaenys says with a fond smile. Jon nearly weeps from frustration.  


"And if they'd had blades?"  
"They had blades, brother", Aegon says, confused.  
"If they'd _used_ them?"  
"We would have won." A lesser man would  cower at the feral half-smile playing on Rhaenys' lips, but Jon just shakes his head.  
"Aye, I know you would have won! That's the problem!" Jon runs his hands through his dark curls.  


"Are you saying you'd prefer us being defeated? That's not very nice." Rhaenys is not taking this quite as seriously as he would like. Her cat has run up to her and she picks him up, stroking his fur with an amused look upon her face. Jon is almost stunned into silence at the strange contrast between Rhaenys I-just-nearly-killed-a-man-look and her fond coddling of the cat. Almost.  


"You lot", Jon says, gesturing threateningly towards his siblings, whom appear annoyingly unthreathened, "are going to get exiled for murder, and then you'll wish you listened to me."  
"It was Stark scum." Aegon shrugs.  
"Grandfather approves of it", Rhaenys says in a low voice. "Says we should teach Stark men a lesson about Targaryen temper any chance we get. 'If they want to wake the dragon, let them burn' he says." Jon swallows.  
Grandfather is mad, he wants to say.

But if this feud is supported by a madman, is the feud itself mad?

The family feud began hundreds of years ago, when Targaryens came to the Town of Spring and began rivaling Starks in nobility as well as fame and buisness. "They're greedy bastards, Starks", Targaryens used to say. "Not willing to share anything." After a few attempts at collaboration and, when those failed, mere peaceful coexistance had gone wrong, both sides blaming the other for violations of some sort or another, a seemingly immortal bitterness had spurred. Blood debts and a vicious cycle of violence and vengeance had kept the two houses enemies century after century.

Would it ever end? Jon wondered sometimes, when a Stark man taunted him in the marketplace or Aegon added another scar to his collection. 

What would it take to put an end to centuries of bad blood?

II: A PAIR OF STARCROSSED LOVERS

"Sansa?"  
"Anon, good nurse, anon!" Sansa meets her own gaze in the looking glass. Blue eyes stare back at her beneath the intricately crafted black mask that covers the upper half of her face.  
Beautiful, is she? She can't quite tell. They all tell her she is, of course, but it's not for any of the reasons that matter. They tell her for money, they tell her for titles, they tell her to win her father's favor. All these balls and words and dances. All these strange little games she is part of.  
"Sansa?" Her nurse calls again. She stands now, the formal dress flowing around her. With a clearing of her throat and a stratening of her back Sansa shakes the melancholy. When her nurse enters the room, Sansa is already halfway to the door, ready to smile and dance and hear men tell her the right things for the wrong reasons.

***

Jon truly can't believe he's here.  
Like most trouble Jon gets into, it began with an idea from Rhaenys, and came about because of the arrogant enthusiasm of Aegon. Many times that lethal combination had lead to Jon wishing for a new family. Many bad ideas he had suffered from. But this - attending a ball at the heart of their enemies' nest? This one takes the price.

As Jon navigates across the dance floor, reluctantly admiring the splendor of the Stark mansion, the argument his brother used for them attending the ball earlier that evening echoes in his head. "Half the city will be there. No one will notice another attendant or three! Besides, it's a masquerade. We'll be irrecognisable." 

When he first heard it, Jon thought the statement naïve and arrogant. But here, in the masqued, excited crowd, it is proven true. No one knows three Targaryens are here. Aegon was, for once,  right. Jon would even have been big enough a person to _tell_ him that, if only Aegon, you know, was here.

Right now, he is missing.

Jon made the big mistake of taking his eyes off of his brother, who unfortunately has the body of a very handsome young man but the sense and attention span of a toddler. (A truly unfortunate combination.) Aegon had run off somewhere doing gods knows what. Rhaenys and Jon split up to look for him when it became clear they had lost him in the crowd. Jon can see the bright golden mask his sister is wearing moving through the room now, glittering when Rhaenys turns her head to scan the crowd for their fool of a brother.

Aegon is probably with a girl in a bed somewhere. But if he isn't ... if someone figured out it was him and decided to teach the Targaryen a lesson in humility ... Jon doesn't dare finish the thought.

The dancing is just beginning beneath the chandeliers in the Stark manor, young people shyly asking eachother for dances, blushing and stuttering. Jon feels a thousand years old. He can't see his brother's ice blond hair amongst the dancers, no matter how hard he looks. The red mask that previously belonged to Rhaenys itches, and Jon is growing grumpier by the minute. He has but three goals now: to find his brother, kill him, and bring him home alive.

He is just about to leave the ballroom and see if Aegon is outside, when something black and red glitteres in the corner of his eye, approaching fast. Before Jon can react, he collides into this foreign object.

It turns out it is a person.

It turns out it is a girl.

And then she takes a step back and he does too and right when he's probably about to say something stupid like "I didn't see you there" or "watch where you're going", he looks at her and sees her and oh. Oh.

_Oh._

Beauty is not the word for it. Admiration is not the word for what he feels when he beholds her. Jon is quite sure he dies right then and is born anew. She is dreams turned flesh. She is impossible. She is everything. Hair of fire, skin of ivory - yet he can almost see the steel beneath it, eyes a sea he would gladly drown himself in. The thin black pearlclad mask enhances rather than hides her features.

Jon barely registers Rhaenys' gestures as she points towards Aegon dancing with a blonde girl, waving her off.

"Good evening", the girl before him says. (Her voice is a song of which he's sure he'll never tire.)  
"'Evening", he blurts out a second too late. (He'll never think less of the stuttering younglings again.)  
"What might I call you?" _Yours._  
"Jon." He should have lied, of course. He's just not sure he can anymore. "And you? What is your name?"  
"Sansa. Sansa Stark."

Oh

No.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon's clumsy both in dance and conversation - Sansa finds she doesn't mind that much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the response to the first chapter - have some fluffy, awkward dancing. Wrote this rather hurriedly on my phone, please forgive any mistakes/inconsistencies. (Might clean it up a bit later.) The cheesyness is still here, haha - you have been warned.

III: BEAUTY TOO RICH FOR USE, FOR EARTH TOO DEAR

The dance he asks her to is slow, but Sansa's heart beats so very fast anyway. It's a wonder she remembers the steps, aspecially when he looks at her like that. Even when the dance takes them in separate directions, even when he is supposed to spin around while lifting another woman, his eyes stay solely on her. (The other dancers does not seem to appreciate that. Sansa appreciates it more than she should.)

"So", he leans in to say close to her ear, struggling to be heard over the music. "Sansa." The dance takes him away from her again, and Sansa instantly misses the warmth of his breath against her skin. They spin to the music, Jon looking a little winded and unsure of his movements. He's not the greatest of dancers - Sansa finds it adorable.

***

Jon curses the dance for keeping them apart, the steps taking him in any direction but hers, it seems. He accidentally steps on a green-haired girl's toes - earning him a teasing smile from Sansa that has him so mesmerized he nearly freezes in the middle of the dance floor.

When he is finally reunited with his partner towards the end of the dance, he has entirely forgotten what he was going to say earlier.

"Jon?" Heaven's sake, the sound of his name on her lips nearly has him melting.

"Um, yes?" A truly intelligent answer. She must think him a half-wit.

"I believe there was something you were going to say to me", she says as he stumbles slightly in his steps, distracted by those eyes beneath her mask. Sansa gently helps him get back into the rythm, dismissing his apology with the sweetest of shrugs and a half-smile, nodding at him to continue.

"I just ... I meant to ask ... just why is it that you are alone without a dancing partner at your own ball?"

Oh no. He doesn't even need to look at the half-confused, half-insulted face she's making to know truly how hopeless of a comment that was. He had meant it as a compliment, as in 'why is so beautiful a lady all alone?' but it didn't sound at all good when said aloud. Jon has heard Aegon charm anything that moves with one poetic pleasantry after another his entire life, but now - the first time Jon actually would want to use them - his memory fails him. He feels slightly dizzy, looking down at his feet as he tries not to step on her toes, struggling to find the words to at least somewhat save the situation.

"Forgive me." Starting off strong, at least. "That didn't sound right, did it?" To his surprise, she smiles again when he looks up, a glint in her eyes as she answers him.

"It's quite alright. I'll consider forgiving you for your question if you answer one of mine."

"You can ask me anything at all", he assures her.

"Then tell me this, _Jon_ " - a shiver crawls up his spine as she says his name like that - "what on earth is a Targaryen son doing at a Stark ball?"

***

He grinds to a halt, earning him frowns from the couple next to them as he disrupts the dance. When he starts dancing again, he's laughably stiff in his movements and even clumsier than before. Sansa isn't sure whether she should be insulted that Jon didn't think she'd recognize a member of the family that she's been brought up to loathe simply because of a stupid mask, or  if she should laugh at how sweetly startled he is.

He attempts to regain his composure after looking around discreetly to ensure no one overheard their conversation, seemingly relaxing a bit when the dance continues on without her screaming for the guards. 

"Did you know all along?" he asks after a while, sheepish.

"No, not instantly", she comforts him, pressing her lips together to keep from smiling again. Strange, really - she's face to face with a Targaryen and all she seems to want to do is smile. "But the next time you attempt to fraudulently dance with someone, maybe you should not give her your real name."

"Good idea. Any other tips?"

"Maybe at least try to deny it, if someone accuses you."

"Aye, I'll try that next time." He meets her gaze without disruption, his eyes are a sky and Sansa is flying. "Aren't you going to call for your father to have my head?" She really, really should. Sansa herself is surprised she hasn't. But not a single fibre of her being is frightened by Jon, and the thought of having him exposed feels foreign, untempting. She decides to answer his question truthfully.

"My father wouldn't have your head no matter how loud I called for him."

"No? I thought you Starks quite fancied decapitation."

"It's better than burning people alive." He takes the slight admirably, with a smile. "It's true, us Starks don't shy away from imposing justice, but my father would never kill you simply for sneaking into a ball. He might, however, kill you for being so bad a dancer." Jon huffs a laugh at that, a laugh that sends a wave of  something warm and tingling through Sansa.

"I must hope you do not report me, then." His tone is teasing, but Sansa hears the question in it.

"Oh, don't you worry. I am feeling quite merciful tonight."

"At least I didn't step on your toes."

"You did."

"I did? I am so very sorry."

And then - suddenly - the music stops, the dance over. The dancers applaud, Sansa turning away from him to enthusiastically clap her hands towards the musicians. He leans in a little bit closer.

"I don't suppose I might have another dance? Despite my awful, toe-stepping tendencies?"

"If you promise my feet will go unharrassed this time."

"I can make no such promise, but I swear I will try my very best." She rolls her eyes at him as they both take a step back, readying for the next dance. Hopefully, it will be another slow one - her toes would likely not survive a fast-paced dance with Jon.

"You know", she says as they wait for the music to begin anew, "I don't think you ever answered my question."

"Remind me again what it was about?" 

"Why you are here."

***

Jon is just about to open his mouth and answer her, when out of the corner of his eye, he sees something troubling. As he turns his head, the scene grows even more disturbing: Aegon is no longer dancing with the fairhaired girl from before, instead standing opposite an equally fairhaired young man. Jon doesn't need to hear what they're saying to know that they're arguing - and if he knows his brother right, a fist-fight is mere seconds from erupting.

Oh, damn it to hell. Jon has cursed his brother's tendency to get in trouble more times than he can count, but never quite like this.

"Sansa", Jon says.

"Yes?" She looks up at him, bright eyes innocent beneath the mask, impossibly beautiful. Jon's going to murder Aegon slowly. 

"It ... I am ever so sorry. I have to go."

"Leaving to spare my toes?" Jon can't tell if she's insulted.

"Something like that." The blonde man is standing uncomfortably close to Aegon now at the other side of the room, and Jon can see his brother's hand find the hilt of his sword. He has to get moving, but Jon finds it near impossible to tear himself away from the vision before him. Sansa, both warming and breaking his heart, seems equally sad at the prospect of him leaving. 

***

"You're acting quite strangely, even for a Targaryen", Sansa says, trying to ignore the panic rising at the thought of never seeing him again.

"Sansa", he just says again, starting to back away from her, looking over his shoulder. "If I never see you again" - he has read her thoughts, turning his mask-clad head back towards her again - "please know that you are ... that I ... that ..."

"I'm what?"

"The greatest beauty I have ever seen. And the greatest dancer. And ... the funniest Stark I ever met." 

"Am I not the first Stark you've ever spoken to?"

He smiles.

"Sorry about the toes", he whispers, and then he looks her in the eyes one last time, taking her hand, softly kissing it - 

\- then finally, he takes a step back into the crowd, disappearing amidst masks and dresses.

Sansa is left with a strange, dream-like feeling. And although there are a thousand things she should rather be thinking considering the situation, Sansa can't help but reflect that he just called her funny, and a good dancer, and the greatest beauty he ever saw.

Despite having no reason to.  
In fact, despite having every reason not to.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aegon, surprise surprise, is in over his head. He needs all the help he can get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk what this is even lmao thanks so much for reading on, hope you enjoy this very messy chapter, I'm sorry about potential mistakes/typos.

IV: FROM ANCIENT GRUDGE BREAK TO NEW MUTINY

Jon makes a concious effort not to look back at Sansa as he begins to elbow his way through the crowd. The ball has moved past its initial stage of formality - the wine is flowing by now, the previously so stiff and proper attendees now dancing with abandon, and as he paves his way toward his brother, Jon sees more than one couple leave the dancing behind entirely to sneak off to a quieter room somewhere. Jon shakes his head, attempting to shake off his regret at leaving Sansa behind. Instead he focuses solely on the scene developing before him, with his brother and the golden-haired young man that looks ready to kill him as the main characters.

Jon is mere armlengths away when the first punch falls - it's the blonde man who throws it, in Aegon's defense, but Jon's brother isn't slow to hit back, fist closed, eyes blazing. Several people surrounding them gasp in shock. Two of the Stark guards positioned at the doors begin making their way through the crowd, towards them. Jon needs to intervene. 

"Abe!" He shouts just as Aegon, who seems to be winning this fight, is about to land a blow to the other fellow's nose that would surely have broken it. Aegon freezes at Jon's call, however, turning his head, seemingly utterly unbothered by his drunken, enraged opponent's moves to strangle him, easily dodging his assaults.

"Brother!" Aegon calls out as his eyes find Jon. "Who the hell is Abe?" The guards are closer now. Jon begins sweating. Aegon, damn his soul, shoots him a sly smile.

"Have you ... have you had too much wine again, Abe? You so deep in your cups you can't even remember your own name?" Jon attempts a laugh. The sound is unnatural even to his own ears. Aegon smile grows wider as he calmly blocks a blow to his temple.

"Aye, I must be. But not half so drunk as my new friend here, aye?" He nods towards the red-faced man he's fighting, who after a soft punch from Aegon is swaying violently on his feet, clutching his jaw.

"No, _Abe,_ not half so drunk as that", Jon replies, moving to stand between Aegon and the young man, who has begun cursing. Out of the corner of his eye, Jon sees the Stark guards approaching, seconds from reaching them. "You keep that huge, filthy mouth of yours shut now, will you?" He merely has time to hiss to Aegon-Abe before the guards come up to them.

"What seems to be the problem here?"

"A simple drunken dispute, is all, I'm sure", Jon says. "My brother Abe here" - he elbows Aegon's side harder than necessary - "has had a bit too much wine."

"Lord Baratheon?" The guards now turn to the blonde man. A lord, of course. Aegon always fights the most important man in the room, it seems. "Is this true?"

"No", is Blondie's groaned reply, followed by an unnecessarily dramatic point of his finger towards Aegon. "That ... scum was dancing too closely to my sister and when I pulled him away - when I pulled him away from her -" He is so drunk he has troubles forming coherent words. "I saw his necklace."

"What necklace?" One of the guards asks, with a dissapproving facial expression that makes it clear he would rather be anywhere but here amongst noble drunken dancers.

"His necklace! His dragon necklace!" The guards seem to jolt awake at that, looking at Aegon with suspicion now rather than bored irritation. "He's a Targaryen loyalist!"

By god, they're dead.

They've gathered quite an audience by now, the name Targaryen never failing to draw attention. Jon spots Rhaenys among the unfamiliar faces, and when she begins to make her way over, he shakes his head firmly to stop her. Whatever is about to happen, Jon wants his sister out of it.

"A Targaryen necklace? In Stark Manor?" The guard raises his eyebrows. Someone rather drunkenly shouts 'kill him!' (So much for Sansa's assurances.) "Surely it cannot be." 

"Might we see this necklace?" The other guard speaks up. Jon knows there is no way out if they see the necklace - not only is the dragon shape a glaringly obvious Targaryen symbol, but it's also only worn by true members of the Targaryen household. If the guards or anyone in the crowd know that, and they understand that they not only have a Targaryen loyalist under their roof, but a true Targaryen in the flesh ... 

The music has stopped once more, the earlier so jolly atmosphere gone in favor of a hostility that causes panic to rise within Jon.

Jon attempts to clear his throat. Neither his brother, nor the Baratheon youngling, nor the guards have moved. Aegon seems just about ready to say something - a stupid thing, no doubt, likely his own death sentence - when he is cut off by a female voice from the crowd behind Jon.

Jon doesn't need to turn to know who it is.

***

The crowd parts after a few seconds of confusion and Sansa steps forward, heart pounding. The guards greet her respectfully as she approaches, instantly recognizing her even in her black mask. Sansa nods in acknowledgement towards them, not daring a glance at Jon. Joffrey looks even more enraged than before as he sees her - she seems to have that effect on him, for some reason.

"What seems to be the matter here?" Sansa asks, trying her best to sound concerned, yet not too invested.

"Lord Baratheon fears that this man is a Targaryen loyalist", one of the guards mutter. "He said the lad wore a necklace that'd prove it. We're just about to inspect it."

"A Targaryen at a Stark ball?" Sansa forces a laugh, earning her a smile or two from the onlookers. "You must be mistaken, my love." The statement is directed to Joffrey, of course, but Sansa can't help but glance at Jon as she says the last two words. When Jon realises what she has said and to whom, he looks as if she'd struck him. Sansa forces herself to lay her eyes on Joffrey once more.

Joffrey doesn't seem to satisfied at how the scene is playing out. Sansa isn't surprised - he hates to look a fool, which is unfortunate, since he so often acts like one.

"I am not mistaken!" Joffrey roars, the guards looking displeased with the show of temper. "Check his necklace!"

"I will, my love", she says soothingly. "Just to put this matter to an end." Sansa smiles diplomatically towards both him and the crowd. She walks past Jon, who steps out of her way without looking her in the eyes, and stands before the man behind him.

It's easy to see he and Jon are kin - they have the same cheekbones, the same dimples. 

"What is your name?" Sansa asks. The young man before her has the audacity to smile - a confident, cocky smile that is very unlike his brother's.

"Uhm ..." He glances at Jon. Sansa nearly groans out of frustration. She's trying to help, for god's sake, and he's making it difficult. "Abe. I'm Abe."

"He's had a lot to drink, my lady", Jon says behind her. Even though it's entirely inappropriate during the circumstances, Sansa feels a pleased chill crawl up her spine at the sound of his voice. By heaven, what has gotten into her?

"Can I see this famed necklace of yours, Abe?" she asks. The-man-who-definitely-isn't-really-named-Abe looks back at Jon again. Jon must have nodded, for not-Abe reaches under his collar with an entirely untasteful wink towards her, handing her the necklace with the chain still hanging about his neck. Sansa leans forward to inspect it closely, her hair conveniently falling down, shielding both her and the necklace from curious eyes.

She recognizes the necklace almost immediately - it is of a type only born by Targaryen family members, she remembers with a frown. He's Jon's brother for true then. Or at the very least his cousin.

The people gathered around her are awaiting her judgement, and Sansa stares down at the necklace, desperate for a few more seconds of time for consideration. It is truly a pretty necklace - the dragon is fascinatingly detailed, it's limbs carefully sculpted, looking fragile, as if ...

As if they could break from a mere touch.

There's no time to spare once she's had the idea. Sansa cups her hand around the necklace and inches closer, pretending to study it carefully as she raises her other hand and pinches the wings of the dragon. It takes two tries, but the second time the golden wings come loose, dingling to the floor, hopefully unnoticed.

Sansa straightens her back again, her hair falling back. The necklace slips out of her hand - she let's it.

"False alarm, everyone", she declares loudly, with a smile and a clear voice. Her eyes scan the crowd before she looks back at Joffrey. "My love, you must have drunk more than you should have! You nearly frightened me there. This -" She gestures towards the necklace. "- is not a Targaryen necklace at all, it's simply one of those cheap lizard necklaces from the marketplace."

"They bring good luck", Jon helpfully chimes in. "Don't they, Abe?" Not-Abe waits only a second too long before playing along.  
"They do, brother."  
"I do not believe it!" sputters Joffrey. He walks over to Aegon, pushing Jon aside - Sansa clenches her fist to keep herself from acting - and grabs not-Abe's necklace. He glares at it for a few, insufferable seconds -

\- before finally letting it out of his grip, muttering to himself.

"Nothing more to see here, I'm afraid", Sansa smiles at the slightly disappointed crowd, "please enjoy the rest of the eve."

A murmuring in response, and finally they tear their eyes from the scene. The guards, after an encouraging nod from Sansa, begin their journey through the crowded room back towards the doorpost. Joffrey, blatantly ignoring Sansa calling his name, begins walking away, likely to find even more wine. In the end, she is left alone with the Targaryens.

Alone with the dragons.

"You need to leave", she hisses to Jon. 

"I know", is the infuriating response she gets.

"Who is your lovely new necklace-destroying friend, Jon?" Not-Abe is not entirely sober either, it sounds like. 

"Sansa", she says before Jon has the chance. " _Stark._ "

"Oh."

"We need to move, Ae... Abe." Sansa nearly rolls her eyes. 

"What on earth is going on here?" A young, imossibly beautiful dark-haired woman comes up to them, stopping dead in her tracks when she sees Sansa. 

"We are leaving. Now." Sansa's shocked at the streak of anger in Jon's voice. His brother and, she now assumes, sister - god, is the entire Targaryen house at this ball? - seem completely unbothered. They do as he bids, however, Rhaenys attempting to clear a path through the crowd, Aegon half-heartedly helping. Jon, to Sansa's surprise, turns to leave without so much as a goodbye.

"Jon?" She can't help but call out. Jon stops, looking back at her with an unreadable expression.

"Get home safe." 

"Thank you again for the dance." He sounds a bit distant when he says it, not at all like the man who adorably clumsily declared her the greatest beauty he ever saw. 

And then he turns from her once more, making his way through the hall. Her eyes refuse to leave his back in the crowd.

They reach the door just as the music begins to play once more, the ball continuing on as if nothing had happened. Jon does not turn as he leaves the room, that back of his now out of her sight. 

And just like that, the Targaryens are gone from the ball.

Sansa's eyes sweep across the room.

_It is as if they were never here._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up folks ... it's balcony scene time. (Almost, at least.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I know I haven't written for this in a while, and this is a short and sort of shitty update, but I've been missing this story and want to keep on with it, shitty or not. 
> 
> Cheeeesy as usual. Unedited, minor changes might occur tomorrow morning when I read it and cry, which normally happens after a late night writing session.
> 
> Thanks, as always, for reading and your comments ♥

V: GIVE ME MY SIN AGAIN 

The stars are out, the night air comfortably cool, if Jon isn't imagining it something a little magical is in the air and the moon is almost full, silver shine illuminating the city streets.

It is, Jon supposes, a better night than most to do something incredibly foolish.

Furious, he more or less tucked Aegon to bed an hour or so back, with strict orders for him to sleep of his drunkenness, and, though Jon isn't getting his hopes up, his foolishness. Rhaenys, too, went to bed then, muttering something about her brother that Jon pretended he didn't hear.

Jon, however, wasn't able to sleep, restless thoughts and the memories of her, of dances and toestepping, of necklaces and non-existent farewells, driving him out of bed. It wasn't long before he left his room and went outside, seeking clarity on the moonlit city streets.

And here he is.

It takes a while before he notices in which direction he is walking, so lost in thought that his feet have been moving entirely of their own accord, picking a path that can only lead to trouble.

He has to see her again.

 

VI: A ROSE BY ANY OTHER NAME WOULD SMELL AS SWEET

Sansa has never been too fond of the dark.

It's too vast, too unyielding; too firm, too unnerving. She is thankful for the stars above her, for the moonshine that bathes the balcony. Apart from shielding her against the night, it also gives a rather dreamy backdrop to her contemplation of the night that has passed.

She tries not to dwell upon the hand who’s touch she can still feel, if she closes her eyes and summon it; she tries not to recall what they said, how they said it.

She is, however, unsuccessful in her attempts, and bits and pieces of the evening come back to her over and over as she sits on the balcony, relishing the chill of the night air after so many hours in the ballroom.

It is strange, is it not? Her inability to stop thinking about it, stop reliving the scene over and over again behind half-closed eye lids.

 

_"I don't suppose I might have another dance? Despite my awful, toe-stepping tendencies?"_

“Jon.” It is not until after the fact that she realises she’s said the name aloud, as if to taste it.

“Jon Targaryen”, she breathes into the sweet-sounding silence of the night. _That_ is his name, she reminds herself - he is not just a Jon, but a Targaryen too, and she ought not forget it.

But the prospect of oblivion is oh, so tempting.

To let him, in her dreams at least, just for tonight be nothing but Jon. A Jon who steps on toes while dancing, a Jon who takes care of his brother, a Jon who gets adorably wide-eyed when startled.

Jon, just Jon, just for tonight.

She tries it again, the way it slips of her tongue, as if her mouth has been longing to form the word.

“ _Jon_.”

VII: O, THAT I WERE A GLOVE UPON THAT HAND

It is entirely possible, Jon has to admit to himself, even though it seems unlikely, that this was an even _worse_ idea than he’d originally thought.

Not only is the Stark residence infamous for it’s bloodthirsty guard hounds, said to be larger than wolves and twice as dangerous, making visiting the gardens uninvited at night an ... _adventurous_ idea, to say the least - there is also the fact that he is currently standing beneath the balcony of, frankly, the most intoxicating person he has ever met.

With this situation, a whole new set of issues appear.

Firstly, caught here, he is likely to earn himself imprisonment at the very least, or perhaps a closer investigation to the whole ‘do Starks really decapitate enemies?’ discussion than he’s really interested to launch.

Secondly, even if he was not a sworn enemy of this girl’s house and everything it represents, the very fact that he is under her balcony in the moonshine could be considered, uhm, shall he say - questionable? 

Thirdly, he has no idea where to go from here. What’s his next move? He kind of thought that once he arrived the ... radiance of his love would illuminate the path of righteousness ... or something. Not for the first time this night, he thinks of how much better his brother would be suited for this situation. In fact, there’s something very _Aegon_ over this whole ‘get yourself killed in a shallow attempt to win affection’ deal. 

She’s up there, on the balcony. Sansa. The fact that she’s out on the balcony is kind of the reason he hid beneath it in the first place - he had stoked himself up, imagined the situation; he would walk on over here, call out her name, she would come out, and he would speak to her. Thank her, perhaps, for his brother still having a head (though an empty one). Say how much he enjoyed the dance. Apologise for his abrupt exit. Maybe, just maybe, if it came up, declare his undying affection for her. You know. That sort of thing.

But once he got to her part of the gardens, she was already out on her balcony, which completely threw off his (admittedly very, very stupid) plan. Jon, panicking, fled to the safety of the shadows beneath the balcony.

And here he is.

A sound from above - Sansa’s voice.

At first he thinks he must imagine it.

“Jon.” A whisper of his name. 

If it is a dream, then curse the one who dares wake him.

“Jon Targaryen.” Louder now. The shadows dance around him in joy.

Now, perhaps, would be a good time to step forward! Like a genie in a bottle, just go “ta-daaa!” as she calls his name.

Sounds stupid.

(Almost as stupid as crouching under a balcony in fear until eventually being eaten by guard hounds.)

The sound of his name, ringing in his ears, fades, and he is almost convinced he was mistaken after all, when again comes the summon of his name over her lips, and he is actually about to do it.

He is actually about to step out into the moonlight, step out into her sight, say whatever stupid sappy thing that comes to mind when he sees her.

Unfortunately (or luckily, depending on how you see it), Jon is unable to do so.

He is distracted by the sound of growling approaching, by the heavy steps of paws in the damp grass.

Distracted by the sight that greets him as he slowly turned his head, his heart in his throat; distracted by the glowing, yellow eyes of a guard hound staring at him with a predatory gaze, a row of exposed teeth glittering in the moonlight.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll probably continue on this later, let me know what you think!


End file.
